


Nothing

by DreamingEmu



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Combat, F/F, F/M, Fighter, Fighting, Fights, Gods, M/M, Magic, Original Universe, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 16:12:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14772896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreamingEmu/pseuds/DreamingEmu
Summary: Feral struggles to find a balance between her peaceful desires and violent deeds. Growing up in one of the most neglected cities of the 26th century forces her to fight for her own life and others. She just wants to be left in obscurity, but the forces that be will not grant her that wish.





	1. One

Fear, excitement, butterflies, and shaky limbs; this is what most young girls go through whenever that special boy is near. Along with their friends, these girls giggle as they gather up the courage to speak. With a gentle shove, the lovestruck friend is sent along their way to let their affections be known.  
Fear, excitement, butterflies, and shaky limbs; this is what this particular child goes through whenever she hits the stage. With shouts from the crowds, she inhales and exhales slowly as she attempts to gather her bearings. With a harsh cuff upside the head, she is sent ahead to make her intentions known.

The lights are blinding, and the cheers are deafening, but none of those factors matter. This young girl has been preparing for this moment her whole life, to back down now would guarantee a nice nap in the dirt. She can feel the air catch in her throat as the Ringmaster enters the arena.  
“Alright folks, the rules are simple! Three rounds, three takedowns, no more, no less. No weapons, no maiming!” The man’s voice trailed off as a scantily dressed sign- bearer entered the ring.

Round 1.

He was tall, strong, and handsome; the girl’s first opponent. Compared to him, she was small and lengthy. He was hardly there, while there was hardly anything to her. The whistle blew and the match came to a slow start. The boy, whose title was Tall Thompson, stepped forwards. His eyes darted around the arena and then returned to the girl as he sized her up. This red haired joke wasn’t something he would consider a match.  
Thompson lunged to the right and the girl mimicked the jump at his left side. The pair circled each other and the distance between them gradually decreased. Thompson feigned a jab and so did she. Every reaction on the girl’s part was a mirror of her opponent’s actions. Frustrated by this supposed mockery, Thompson charged forwards and collided with the rope boundary as the redhead evaded to the side. By the time he had turned around, his opponent was already at the other side of the ring.  
Frustrated by the child’s elusiveness, Thompson charged forwards once more while shouting in the girl’s direction. She mirrored him again but moved at a slower pace. The redhead began to crouch closer to the mat, her arms in a bracing position. While a collision did occur, it was not the full bodied one that the crowd expected. The girl had darted off to the side at the last possible second whilst throwing her arm in Thompson’s path.  
Tall Thompson made a gagging noise as the child’s arm collided with his throat at full force. The impact caused him to topple backwards into the mat with an audible thwack. Stunned, the boy grabbed at his throat and slowly sat up in an attempt to ease the pain. As Thompson went to do this, his opponent came from behind and took hold of his arms. Pain made its presence known as it stabbed at his shoulders. The girl had pulled Thompson's arms behind himself. To move in this scenario would mean risking the dislocation of his arms.

The first round had ended. The winning point going to the female combatant. This match was no longer a game. Now that Thompson knew what he was going up against, he had sobered up a bit.  
While off to the side, Thompson’s manager, whose name was Heavy, gripped onto his shoulders and gave him a rough shake. “C’mon Tall, you got this! You’re almost a grown man, this child shouldn’t be a problem!” The manager wanted the completed round to be nothing more than beginner’s luck. He peered across the ring, looking to see if he could figure out who this redheaded child was fighting for.  
Cole Roam- he should have known. That man had been out of the pits for well over a decade, his appearance there was more than concerning. He was giving the young girl a silent scolding; not one that a manager would give their fighter, but one a father would give his daughter.  
Miss Roam cast a forlorn glance in Thompson’s direction, only to return her attention to Cole after a sharp tug on her ponytail. There was a quick exchange of words causing the child to wince and nod before quickly making her way back into ring.  
Thompson was already waiting in the opposite corner, his padded gloves tapping together with no sense of purpose. If he were to lose the next round, it would mean that he had a slim chance of making it to the knockout rounds.

Round 2

Tall Thompson didn’t waste any time, he darted forwards as soon as the bell went off. A series of jabs were directed at Miss Roam, some landed as she couldn’t dodge them all. The child accepted some of the strikes with a pained grunt and quickly backed away. Thompson continued his attack, narrowly missing the girl’s lengthy torso. He went for an uppercut, underestimating Roam’s speed. The girl caught his arm and twisted it to the side while simultaneously pulling him towards her. Roam raised her knee just in time as she was able to connect with a spot just below his ribs, thoroughly knocking the breath out of him.  
As he doubled over, Roam continued her assault. Headshot after headshot was dealt, keeping her opponent in a stupor. Thompson pushed out with his arms, shoving into the redhead’s chest and sending her into a backwards skid. The pair began to circle each other once more, both heavily panting. Roam went to take out Thompson’s legs only to be stopped as his fist connected with her throat. The leather of his glove tore open as it dragged across the crude metal collar that Roam wore.  
The girl was left sputtering, but still continued her pursuit. There would be no stopping this child until she physically could not fight. Before Thompson had time to process the damage to his equipment, Roam had thrown herself at him and wrapped her long legs around his torso. The pair had locked themselves into a partial bearhug. Miss Roam was slamming her elbows into Thompson’s collarbone while he attempted to remove himself from the girl’s grip by pulling her hair. The redhead timed his tugs and waited until his grip went slack. Without so much as a warning, Roam headbutted the bridge of her opponent’s nose and loosened her legs. With a huff, she swung her legs over Thompson’s shoulder and pulled herself behind him so that she was clinging to his back.  
With one hand, Thompson cupped his nose to slow the flow of blood, and with the other hand he attempted to bat Roam away. He had fallen into her trap. The girl took hold of his arm and threw her weight backwards, sending the pair toppling in the same direction. Roam braced herself for the impact and exhaled sharply once she hit the mat. With his free and bloodied hand, Thompson attempted grip onto his opponent’s collar. Roam had taken hold of that arm too and held the limbs tight. The girl bent Thompson’s arms behind his head and locked her legs around his neck.

Another round had gone in the girl’s favour. Cole and Heavy had missed the bell as they were busy making obscene gestures at each other from across the arena. It wasn’t until the fighters went to their respective managers that the men realized the round had ended.  
Heavy tugged anxiously at the gold chains draped around his neck. This girl was going to be a potential threat to his fighters, and a threat like that meant losing his business. One of Heavy’s medics were tending to Thompson’s bleeding nose as the man crouched at his fighter’s side. “I won’t permit that girl to leave the ring. You get what I’m implying?”  
Thompson nodded wearily and loosened the glove on his dominant hand. Discreetly, his manager slid a metal object into it. Even if his fighter was disqualified, it wouldn’t be Heavy taking the blame. Worst case scenario; he loses one of his trainees. This would be a minor problem as he has several more under his wing.

Cole assessed his daughter’s bruises with a critical gaze. He crouched so that he was level with her olive green eyes. “You’re better than this!” He hissed in a strange accent and pressed his thumb into a freshly forming bruise on the girl’s shoulder. “Don’t let him hit you! You’re purposely allowing his attacks. I thought you wanted this?! If not, we’ll leave right now and take you to the closest factory...”  
Miss Roam’s chest heaved as she fought to regulate her breathing and accommodate for the pain. She lazily shook her head and made it a point to avoid Cole’s harsh gaze. These fights were the lesser of the two evils.

Final Round.

The crowd’s cheers had reached an unbearable level of noise. Roam could only press a gloved hand against her ears to give herself some level of comfort. Thompson stared at the girl with a cruel expression, one of his hands twitching menacingly. Perhaps it was his crooked nose that caused the newly threatening appearance.  
This time it was the girl that initiated the fight, her goal to end it as soon as possible. Her opponent went for a head strike. Roam went low and bowled into his legs. The two of them tussled around for a few short moments, attempting to trap one another. Roam ended up on top of Thompson, her forearms pressing down on his throat.  
Once. Twice. The girl could feel a sharp pain in her gut. Instinct told her to press down on Thompson’s throat, and so she did. The crowd had fallen silent, allowing a sickening crunch to reach Roam’s ears. She released her grip once Thompson’s struggles were mere flailings. Tall Thompson gasped several times before ceasing in all actions.

Roam stood slowly, her gaze scanning the crowd with a dull expression. Why now, did they go quiet? The girl felt something warm pool around her bare feet. She glanced down with an air of not understanding. A dainty little shiv jutted out from her muscled abdomen. This was the cause of the sudden silence. Roam’s head bobbed forwards as her breath turned ragged. With one hand she pressed against her wounds, and with the other she half heartedly pumped it into the air.  
The crowd went wild at this simple action. They had paid to watch a beginners match only to be graced with a fight worthy of the championships. The child fell to her knees as dots blotted her vision. She slumped over to her side and lost consciousness, her dark hair blending into the puddle of red fluid which dirtied the stage.


	2. Two

Oh how blue this great expanse is! It grows darker and darker the longer she stays. She feels as if she is floating up into the sky, no gravity to bind her limbs. For once she believes herself to be free. Bubbles float past her face and ascend into the paler blues above herself, breaking through the jagged hole in the sky. Something isn’t right, her lungs feel as if they are being tightly bound. Like a sponge being squeezed of its contents. With each passing second- is it simply seconds? She can’t tell, her mind is numbing. As time passes she feels as if every inch of her person is being compressed and compacted. It’s as if her life’s dread had become physical.  
Something dark floats down, towards her. It moves quickly. What is it? An animal? No. It’s too frigid for them here. Suddenly she is aware of the prickling sensations in the outermost regions of her body. Soon they too fall numb. The object is closer now. It is no creature, just a piece of debris. Odd. How did it get here? The blue which surrounds her changes in tint to that of the colour red. That alarming feeling has returned. Suddenly she is frantically moving her limbs in a desperate attempt to escape the blue hellscape. Her efforts bring nothing but a white hot bolt of excruciating pain. A stream of bubbles escape from her mouth, replacing what should be sound. The numbness retreats from her mind momentarily.   
I am drowning. I can’t swim.  
Everything fades into a less pleasant black expanse.  
···  
The young girl wakes with a stifled cry, panic muting her. Soft hands are suddenly at her shoulders and pressing her back down. Blindly and feebly, she attempts to push her assailant away. The excessive movement stirs pain within her abdomen and she loses her will to fight back. She gasps, taking in as much air as her lungs physically can. The hands retreat and she slowly opens her eyes.  
Roam found herself in a candle lit room, two of its walls made of concrete, one of them slanted, and the rest of wood, scrap metal, and chicken wire. The dimness did not hamper her sight. The roof above her is half slanted and made with cracking concrete, and the floor beneath her is made of pock marked asphalt. If the place was as unstable as it seemed it would have collapsed centuries ago. Slowly the girl realized where she was. Home, unfortunately.  
“You’re awake, finally. We were worried you weren’t going to make it.” The voice was sweet and sincere. A heavy blanket was placed on top of Roam, a curtain of blue black hair brushed past her face as the action was completed. It was a pleasant feeling; it reminded her of her mother. That can’t be right, she shouldn’t be able to remember her. Surely she was dead?  
“Mom?” It sounded foreign saying the word aloud, ridiculous even. Slowly her daze was wearing off while her pain steadily increased.  
The pleasant voice let out a soft chuckle. “Nope, it’s your lucky charm, Clover. Perhaps you should go back to sleep.” Once more the hands were at her shoulders, not letting her sit up. The restraint brought back the panic of her earlier terror, she shoved the hands away and groaned as the pain flared up. “Or you could act like a savage and tear your stitches.” This time the voice was stern.  
With the change in tone, Roam finally brought her attention to Clover, sheepishly realizing she owed the girl some form of civility. “Is that not what my name implies?” Her voice was barely a whisper, a weak reiteration of her father’s strange english. Roam teased the older girl, a faint smirk painted across her red lips despite her poor state. She wouldn’t bring to light what finally woke her from her slumber, she didn’t want to burden Clover.  
“Rose-” Her plump lips pursed and her steely gaze locked with Rose’s olive one. Rose retreated to looking at the quilt that covered her. She despised making eye contact, it made her feel as if her privacy was being invaded. Clover would never use her first name, she found it demeaning. Rose on the other hand prefered her first name. The older girl was reminded once more to watch where she looked and she let out a sigh. “Forgive me, I shouldn’t be so cross with you. After all, you seem like you went through hell and back.”  
Rose relaxed, her shoulders losing tension as she exhaled. “How many days was I out?” She pulled her blanket down, shivering at the bitter air. Her hands moved to tug up her tattered tank top.  
“Two. Please don’t.” Clover leaned forwards from her bedside seat and grabbed Rose’s bruised hands with her delicate ones, this time in a more timid fashion. The redhead reeled, disliking the sudden contact now that she was more alert.  
In an act of retaliation, Rose glowered at the girl, subconsciously taking in her features. It was all she could do.   
Clover was always a tender and outgoing individual, despite her apprehensive nature. Unlike Rose, she could never hurt a fly. She was a young woman of 16 years, 3 years Roam’s senior. Her hair was thick and shoulder length, its colour contrasting the steeliness of her round, compassionate eyes. Holding her hair in place was a metal shamrock bobby pin. Her skin tone was pale due to their subterranean dwellings; her eyes had also adapted to accommodate to the dimness by being larger in size. Those two traits were common among the people of the Underground due to generations of living there. A galaxy of freckles were splashed across the bridge of her nose and cheeks. It looked as if someone had thrown soot at her face because of how fine and numerous the specks were. Clover had the good fortune of having a round face and a plumper frame. Unlike most of the town, her family was blessed with wealth. If her healthy glow wasn’t an indicator, her richly coloured velvet garments were.  
“Just turn your head, I need to see.”  
“You’ll make yourself sick.” Clover’s voice warned, ignorant of what Rose had already endured. After issuing the warning, she relented and turned her focus on rummaging through her leather satchel.  
With her shirt now rolled up, Rose was able to examine her battle wound. An ‘X’ made up of 2” lines stitched closed with blue sutures resided near her right hip, her abdominal muscles distorting the shape only a little. It looked to be fairly clean however the faint burning sensation was a bit of a concern. “So, two days? How many hours is that?” Having been unconscious during those two days didn’t seem to raise any alarm in the child. There were worse things than being comatose. “Why so long?” She rolled her shirt back down.  
“You do the math, you need to learn.” Clover removed a paper sized sheet of cardboard that was tucked into a clear plastic sleeve from her bag. She handed it to the bedridden girl along with a felt marker. “I was told that you lost a lot of blood, that, and you were under a lot of stress according to the healer.”  
“I’m no good with numbers.” Rose grumbled, grudgingly taking what was handed to her. In an unsteady and lame hand she wrote down the equation of ‘2 x 100’ in long form. “Did the healer leave anything to combat infection?”  
“You’ll get better in time. Just like your... training.” Clover was always touchy about Rose’s past time, unknowing of the fact that the girl did not willing fight for fun. She looked over at the makeshift whiteboard and made a tsking noise. “Hours are only sixty minutes long, not a hundred.”  
The red haired child wiped the board clean, brushing the particles onto the ground. In a vigorous flurry of writing, she corrected the equation. She worked at a semi slow pace, which was a vast improvement from a couple of months ago. It was around that time she was introduced to Clover, a private tutor turned friend.   
Rose wasn’t permitted to attend the town’s school, as her father believed it to interfere with her training.  
“Thats better.” The woman grinned cheerly. “And yes, the healer left something.” Clover gestured to the bedside table, where a clear bottle filled with a sickly coloured viscous fluid sat. The faint tolling of a bell could be heard, no doubt rung by the town’s timekeepers. Only two clangs. It was the early afternoon. “Ah, seems that it would be better to give you some now. Judging by the level of the contents, your father neglected to give you the morning dosage.”  
Rose was not surprised by that revelation. “You sure that stuff is safe?”  
“Why wouldn’t it be?”  
“It looks like sewer sludge.”  
“Like what?”  
“Do you not empty your family’s chamber pots?”  
“We have a maid for that.”  
“Oh.” Rose scrunched up her face, embarrassed by the class division.  
“I’m sure it will be fine.” Clover prepared the dosage, pouring it into what looked like a shot glass. Disgusted, Rose opened her mouth to protest. Clover took the opportunity to dump the medicine down the younger girl’s throat.  
Rose dry heaved and sputtered, finding the antibiotics to taste worse than it looked. With the spasming of her stomach, she felt the stitches being stressed. Fortunately they did not burst.  
“See, it’s not that bad.” Clover simpered. “To make up for your little ordeal we’ll just do forty five minutes of work today.”  
“Some make up gift that is.” Her tone was flat, holding no ill will.  
···  
After a near hour of agonizing brain work, the math lesson had come to an end. The pair tidied up and Clover offered her student a toffee. Rose stared at it, suddenly disheartened. Sweets were rare and expensive, she didn’t deserve to have one.  
Clover caught on to the shift in mood. “Perhaps another time then? How about I read for a little bit, we have time.”  
“Can I try to read?” Rose looked at the old black book that was being retrieved from the satchel with a sense of longing.  
The black haired girl looked to the door anxiously. “No.” She bit her lip, looking ashamed. “Your father would never allow it, I couldn’t risk letting you.”  
Rose was confused by the latter line, who could possibly be harmed if she were to learn to read?  
The book which Clover held in her lap looked older than most of the adults in town. At one point in time it had had gold trimmed pages and golden lettering on the cover. It was an indistinguishable book with a ratty red string to mark your place. The town elders believed such books to have been important at one point in time, but being in the 26th century its meaning had been lost. Parents use the books to tell their children stories and to teach them a magnitude of moral lessons. To most people it was nothing more than fiction, or a nice bartering item  
For a while Clover flipped through the pages, skimming over passages before reading them aloud. “This one was written by some guy named Roman, on the fifth day and third month.” She turned the book, her head tilting to the side as well. “At least that's what I think it is.” Clover read through the passage, her one brow perked. “This doesn’t make much sense.”  
“Agreed.”  
The house’s door opened with a loud thud, standing in the entryway was the tall form of Cole Roam. Clover wordlessly packed up her stuff as she usually did and curtsied on her way out of the Roam’s dwellings. It was just father and daughter now. No outsider dared to ever intervene.  
“Ah, Feral I see you are awake. How fortunate. Now let's discuss that little stunt you pulled at the match.” The latter statement took on a dark tone


	3. Three

Two sides of the same coin they were. The older was the head for he was the governor of the pair. His word was to be the only law in the lawless land. Cole was the judge, jury, and the executioner in the younger’s small world. As it always follows, the tail was the younger. Unlike the faces on the coins, it was always the tail images that aided in the identification. There was no greater identifier of the Roam family than the wild girl that drifted through the Underground’s slums like a figure of another plane.

Silent challengers they remained, staring at each other from across the small household. Inclining her head with a smug sense of superiority, Feral responded in a way reminiscent of her father’s tones. “Which stunt would that be? If I can recall, the sport is made up of stunting.” She had her index finger on her dimpled chin to make a mock of pondering.

Cole was limping towards her now, his old injury never having healed correctly. Feral’s expression dissolved the moment his hand curled around her wrist and pulled upwards. The girl winced as the motion irritated her already sore form.  He leaned closer to her so that the pairs’ faces were no more than a foot apart. Feral could smell the sweat from him caused by a long day's work at the forges.

“Say that again. This time in a more appropriate fashion.” Green eyes of different generations met each other with the same intensity.

Feral’s mouth parted and twisted downwards, her clean teeth showing through a nasty scowl. “Are you asking about the incident in which I allowed the strikes or the one where I toyed with them?” 

His grip loosened from her wrist and switched to a stern holding of her jaw. Suddenly one set of eyes was distracted by the other’s features. Cole sharply turned his daughter’s head to the right, bringing the one side of her face into better lighting. “Neither. I’m talking about the fatal outcome of the match.” The previous hostility had disappeared and was promptly replaced with quiet fascination. “The healers did a piss poor job at repairing your cheek.” 

Feral’s mind went blank at the correct answer. She too dropped her hostility and stared at her father with her mouth agape and brows furrowed. Cole traced the young scar with his thumb, following the curvature of his daughter’s gaunt features. This disfiguration was to be the first of many.

While the younger Roam sat in silent confusion, the older’s mind went back a few months to when the facial injury was first received. It was the first and last time that he would take another fighter into his fold. She, who would not be named, came highly recommended by Cole’s former manager. What a wreck it had turned out to be. She was an older and jealous sort, that mistook Feral’s friendly chattings with their partner for advancements. Much like the recent match, there was a crude blade involved. Feral was lucky for the attack to have missed her eye.

“How did the fatality come about?” It was Feral’s turn to grip onto her father’s wrist. She began to shake his arm. “Tell me!” Her mind had fogged over the details of the recent fight, much like a story being compressed into one general memory. “Tel-” Before she could let out another whine, Cole had released his hold on her and gave a sharp flick to the corner of her mouth.

“You broke the level’s rules. Fortunately the host overlooked your transgression on account of you playing the defense.” With a tired sigh he settled back into the bedside chair. “You are regarded as a killer now.” 

Feral’s hands shot up to her mouth to rub out the pain and to mask her horror. Once again she nearly felt ill. Tears began to well up in the corner of her eyes as the room began to spin. The memory was still absent, but the crunching of her fatal blow echoed faintly within her mind. Her hands now trembling, the girl lowered them and began to smooth out her blanket.

“You made me do this.” Her tone was low but the rancor evident in it made it seem like she was speaking at the usual volume.

“Wrong.  _ You _ had other options.  _ You _ chose to fight.  _ You _ crushed his windpipe.” Cole raised his hands, the palms facing outwards. “I simply provided the skill.” His tone was now flat, seemingly defeated by his daughter’s pitiful expressions. He knew she didn’t care about who it was that died, she was fearful of her own actions. Afraid of the fact that she could indeed fatally harm another.

Cole knew this of her because they were one of the same. Her shock would eventually wear down into a sense of numbness. He was sure of it. It had happened for him. Before Feral could cry out even more, he set a hand upon her shoulder and gave her a brief shake. “Listen, you did good. Not many could do what you did. I probably wouldn’t have stayed conscious as long as you did.” The father let out a half hearted chuckle. It was cut short by the younger’s harsh gaze.

The pooling tears began to run down her cheeks now, accentuating her red under eye tattoos and her freckled complexion. She despised these interactions. The way that they hurt and then made up as if the hurt never happened. Much like the murder, there was no going back with the simple use of kind words.

“I was going to further chastise you, but it seems you’re doing the work for me. All I’m going to say is that I would have liked to have more time to train you for the Championships. Now we only have a month to train you in some weapon class.”

“The Championships? What about the Knockouts?!” Feral had for the moment forgotten to show some restraint.

“Yes, the Championships. We sound like a parrot, ugh. I’m honestly just surprised to see you making it this far. Anyhow, both the crowd and host enjoyed you so much that they are pushing you ahead.” Cole began to unclip something from his belt. “Prepare yourself to perform much more killing acts.” He faced his child as he said this, his face a mask to hide the doubt.

The girl had a heart and soul a whole hell of a lot better than his. She didn’t believe in the entertainment factor of the fights or truly understood the importance of the winnings. Feral was a near lost cause for all the right reasons, a girl with a morality that contradicted her nature. Cole needed those reasons gone just as Feral wanted to be gone. Luckily for him, she had an off switch for such things. He just needed to find a way to get it to stay.

“This isn’t me. I’m not- I can’t do what you did.” The tears fell further, leaving glistening trails upon her features. They would stop and pool at her jawline before falling into obscurity. She wiped at her eyes and held her palms against them to stop the flow. “I can’t hurt them like you can.”

“Oh, but you can.” Cole exhaled as he ran his hand down his own face, taking this moment to collect himself. This going back and forth with her was proving to be wearing, as it was every other night. “You didn’t see yourself in the ring that night. Not like I did. Not like the crowd. All you did was send strike after strike, as you should. They saw a dead stare within lively eyes. That scared them, it excited them even. Viewers are used to seeing crazed and cocky fighters, individuals that act like they have nothing to lose. They like you because you can detach yourself from the fight, just as they watch to detach themselves from the real world.” As he spoke, Cole placed a small pouch upon his daughter’s lap.

Feral lowered her hands once again, this time revealing a face with features contorted into expressions of malice. “They watch those fights because they are sick and twisted, just as you are.” Her dominant hand curled around the pouch and began to compress it. The contents inside issued cracking sounds and even a few of shatterings. Cole took it away immediately and checked the contents with a critical gaze. “I detach because I’m terrified beyond comprehension. I hate the pain, I hate the people, I hate the contact!”

Before Feral could further raise her voice, Cole clasped his hand upon her mouth and pulled her closer. His other hand kept an uncomfortable hold on the back of her neck. “You say that, but you show otherwise. I saw you there in that ring. I was almost as close as Thompson. We could see that little grin that formed whenever a round came to a close. You toyed with him, upset him, and that excited you. You are just as twisted as the rest of us.” Knowing that the night of the fight was foggy in her mind, Cole spun small tales to further ease her into the concept. It would be a waste of years of effort should she truly leave the pits.

Feral moved to protest, but Cole stopped her with the tightening of his grip.

“I’ve known you for thirteen years, don’t tell me I can’t possibly understand you.” He tossed back the pouch after releasing her and stood. “Go to the market and get our rations for the week. Make sure to get more proteins if you can. If there is anything left over, consider it your allowance. It will be small since you broke some of the pieces.” With the turning of his back, the conversation had come to a close. 

The younger Roam wound up her facial features and stuck out her tongue. Cole raised his hand in a vague gesture, indicating that he was aware of her increasing annoyance. Feral threw back her tattered covers and began to pivot her form. She ground her teeth together as the forgotten pain came rushing back. Slowly, her feet touched the cold floor mat, causing the heat of the injury to mingle with the coolness of her surroundings. Cole briefly peered over his shoulder as his daughter gave a pained grunt. Once she was up and standing, he returned to paying her no mind.

It was the old mutual indifference once again.

There were no goodbyes to be had as the redhead brusquely pulled on a hooded wrap around and disappeared through the door. She slammed the flimsy wood piece as she left, issuing glances from those that squatted about the decrepit housing. Feeling all those eyes on her, Feral shuttered and adjusted her hood so that her face was further shaded.

The young warrior’s legs carried her through the twists and turns of the Underground, blindly following the faint pulling sensation in her sternum. Those that caught glances of her neutral expression or even her features moved away to give space. This unsettled her just as it had when it began a few months ago. Fortunately it allowed for more efficient travels through the usually crowded walkways.

In the dimness of the city it was near impossible not to stumble over the cracking asphalt or soak your foot in some questionable puddle. These inconveniences did not befall Feral, for she could see the imperfections before she fell victim to them. Her journey to the market brought her up old inclines. The temperature raised steadily with each level reached while the noise level increased. 

Cavernous yet claustrophobic, the market nearly spanned the whole upper level of the Underground. Stalls were made up of decaying fabrics, woods, and steel sheets. A perfect mess of a place this was for it was new things built on top of and of the old. Fires burned within rusted barrels, casting warm light unto the dim place. Upon the carcasses of old machines clothing and blankets were hung for sale. Communal cooking spits were located at nearly every corner, preparing the same thing in different ways. Pillar supports with cracked cement and exposed rehbar held tarp fastenings and old announcements. 

Young children hollered adverts for various stalls while the silent adults worked or asked for handouts. It was the latter group that had no reservations about approaching the young Roam for her generosity was well known to those that didn’t shy away. Into old and calloused hands her allowance fell. In exchange they shared small conversations and blessings. They reached for her bruised hands to hold and shake, despite her masked reluctance for the contact. She was the unexpected light in the dark and dreary place where they all dwelled. How shameful it was for her to not see it as so.

The change in chatter roused one of the more senior residents. Hunched in the shaded part of the market square he reared his head in Feral’s direction. “Oh! My lost child, is that you?” He was searching for the girl with clouded eyes, seeing nothing but the darkness in front of him.

“Indeed it is, Old Sir!” Feral’s mouth turned upwards in a warm grin that would never be seen by him. The pulling sensation in her chest strengthened just as she approached the elder. However as she crouched a few feet in front of him, that drawing feeling faded back into something obscure. Absently, the young Roam rubbed her chest like she would a bruise. 

“You’ve been gone for some time. I was beginning to worry. I swear I’m going go bald because of you!” A chortle escaped his vocals as he ran a wrinkled hand through the white shock of hair that crowned his head.

“My apologies, it seems I’ve already caused it!” The jest was continued so as to avoid the reason of her prolonged absence. “Is there any new happenings in the upper level?” Feral scooted closer to the old man, eager to hear the gossip so that she could be pleasantly distracted.

“Not many things, but there are some of significance.” Old Sir glanced about before leaning in like it was some great conspiracy. At this Feral giggled. “That old crone posing as one of us beggars finally croaked. Left her inheritance to some young boy that she fancied. Perhaps you could woo him and get in on the riches?” Another chortle echoed through the market while he wiggled his sparse brows comedically.

Nobody seemed to pay any mind. They never did.

This aimless chattering continued, sending Feral into a near absent thoughts. She watched the older man with a hooded gaze, her hand traveling to her abdomen to offer some comfort to fight the pain. It was in this mindset that she took in the other’s features. The gentleman in front of her had a sallow and gnarled form that only time could achieve. He was by far the oldest individual she had met in her short life. Unfortunately age held little status for he had little use. As Old Sir prattled on about the weather he scratched at one of his pointed ears. Feral absently mimicked the motion with her free hand. The index finger trailing over her own points as well.

The more sensible populace had passed the physical anomalies off as birth defects. While fanciful in appearance it was easily hidden by hood or hair. As for the fanatics of wayward beliefs, Feral and Old Sir were to be shunned as some demonic beings. In her younger years such reactions were unsettling. Now they were just nuisances. 

“- some newcomers arrived this morning. They set up their business in the vacant lots of the back corner. I would like it if you could accompany me there. Feral?” Old Sir reached forwards to tap her knee.

“Hm?” Feral regained focus and shuffled back a bit. “Oh, yes. Of course.” The senior’s features lifted upwards and caused a narrowing of his milk white eyes as he beamed in her general direction at this agreement. Miss Roam moved to help the other up, but he held up a hand before she even began.

“Just a moment before I forget.” Old Sir reached within his dark tattered cloak, and from it he produced a peculiarly shaped object. Feral was already bracing herself as he unwrapped the item with expertly guided hands. Despite the dimness, light caught in the bronze of the object and was warped by the shape of it. Curved like a dome, the reflected light had cast crescent shapes upon the closest surfaces. The light shifted as Old Sir moved his wrist in three definitive motions.

All through the market the sounds of the bell toll echoed. Three times it had sounded. Feral had tilted her head to the side to help dampen the noise rather than just covering her ears. Shopkeepers and the like began bustle about at the new hour. Some to visit their children as they pooled out of the school district. Others to prep for the eventual influx in customers. Feral watched in marvel at this change in pace. How perplexing it was that no one seemed to take notice of the noise’s source.

While the young Roam was busy gazing at the world around her, Old Sir was wrapping up the old bell. He was very careful as he did so, rubbing away possible smudges that he could not see. “As always, your timing is impeccable.” Feral had returned her attention to the elder once he began uprighting myself.

“We all have our talents, my young dear. Your’s seem to elude me.” He was gazing just over her head. His eyes shifting as if he was searching for something. Feral lowered her own gaze to the ground, her form shuttering ever so slightly. Old Sir then fully focused on her, taking in features that were not visible. “Perhaps that is your talent.”

“Right. Lets just go see this new business. I don’t want to be late for the evening meal.” Feral would have been perplexed had this small interaction not unsettled her. This feeling sent a numbness into her extremities prompting her to focus on the paling porcelain of her hands. She had a talent that was not seen as one, for it only caused suffering. 

The older man had linked arms with Feral, causing the girl to stiffen in posture. Goodbyes were issued from the beggars and elders as the pair departed. The redhead led the other in the amply sized walkways, remaining on high alert as to avoid potential risks for her current companion. A gaggle of young children darted in front of the pair’s path and stopped to stare with wide eyed wonderment. Feral stared right back at them with a faint impression of confusion. Old Sir was busy smiling at some point past the group. The children chattered excitedly amongst themselves.

“Can we feel your ears?” A young blonde was leaning forwards on her tiptoes, her arms splaying to the sides for balance.

Old Sir chuckled in obligement though the children were not asking him. Before Feral could utter her response, the small herd tugged at her clothing to bring her down to their height. Small hands were trailing over the pointed tips or tugging at the lobes. A pink blush came to life under Feral’s freckled complexion to match the redness of her irritated ears.

“Woah! They are real!”

“My Ma says that you’re a vampire! You won’t bite me will you?” One of the boys moved his hands back to himself. A child that was no older than a toddler was emboldened enough to reach forwards and lift Feral’s red tinted lips upwards. The teen jerked her head back to ward off the intrusion but was stopped by the many hands already gripping her ears. 

“Your Ma lies! She’s a liar!” The young one jumped up and down with a sense of triumph. Feral was relieved that they had removed their tiny digits before doing so. A call from somewhere near the market had freed the teen from the grip of many. They dissipated just as quickly as they materialized, and just as loudly.

Feral remained crouching and red faced in a fluster. Her already wild hair was even more haywirey than before. After a brief pause to recollect her fragile composure, she stood back up whilst resting one hand over her injury. Her other hand moved upwards to rub the soreness away from her mouth.

“Get used to that group there. You will be seeing more of them.” Old Sir relinked arms with the younger once more, and continued on their little quest. “Do you-” he let out a fond chuckle. “Do you remember when we first met? You were around the same age as they were.”

Feral nodded in acknowledgement only to speak up as the action served no purpose. “It’s a fond memory of mine. Though I’m still embarrassed about having collided with you.”

“It was for the best.” He patted the girl’s hand affectionately. “Do you remember your mistaking me for your father?” 

The young Roam let out a chuckle that transitioned into a groan. “I try not to remember that part.”

“Well at least you didn’t call me mother.”

Feral snorted before the duo burst into a joyous laughter that issued odd looks from those within hearing distance. The light hearted banter continued as they ventured towards one of the Underground’s back corners. 

The pair was greeted by warm light long before they turned the corner. Initially the young Roam had believed the light to be coming from the sun itself. A sporadic flickering dispelled that belief. Candles burned with an amplified intensity that was not common for the Underground. Wax dripped and dried quickly, creating a colourful mess on the stands and pavement.

“Woah. You didn’t say it was going to be so big!” Feral swayed from side to side, alternating on her feet.”They’ve got walls and a roof!” Most businesses were lucky to get half a lot to themselves and a wall or two. The construct was four lots in size, its length twice its width.

“I guess you could say that I’m as surprised as you are.” Old Sir perked a wiry brow in the girl’s general location. The amount of sarcasm in his tone brought the other back to their senses. 

“Right. How were you to know?” Feral fussed with her hair to take off the edge of her embarrassment. “So...” She angled her posture to grant a better view of the structure’s interior.  There was a plethora of wooden pedestals. Some of them held various objects or sculptures while a majority were still empty. “Is this supposed to be an art gallery or collectors den?” Before an answer was issued Feral was already passing the threshold. As she did so the faintest feeling of breaking through a solid surface fell over her. One hand clutched at her chest while the other steadied her using the door frame. 

It was as if all her stresses and delights came washing over her in a horrible blending of sensations. 

The teen turned to flee but was stopped by her approaching travel companion. “I do believe the correct term is temple. Long before our time, people came to places like this to reconcile, ask for miracles, or simply affirmation. That story book your friend Clover has is said to have whole practices of worship surrounding it.” As he spoke, Old Sir had his weathered hands held outwards to corral the younger further into the building. Her distress was not evident to him.

Feral would have been more vocal about her discomfort had she not wanted to upset the other. Clearly this place held some importance for him. “How-” She stumbled ever so slightly as she was backed away. “-How are those acts carried out? Do you have to pay for the favours or make promises?”

“Some of the deities require sacrifices, yes. Blood, food, flowers, souls. It varies. The ones that we’ll be seeing don’t.” Old Sir reached out to the left, his hand coming in contact with what appeared to be a sculpture of high value for it was cast in polished gold. “Here.” His voice caught before he continued, a sad smile slowly scrolling itself across his lips. “Come kneel in front of this one.”

“It’s a cow. At least I think it is.” The sight of the bovine briefly reminded Feral of the food requisition she needed to acquire later. “What does it give? Steaks?” There was a brief pause as she kneeled. “I’ve never had actual beef before. Have you?”

“No and I wouldn’t know. This shrine here represents life.” Reluctantly, he removed his hand from the statue. With a groan and a creak in his joints, the elder knelt beside the teen, and rested his palms on his knees. “Praying to her can bring about peace, health, and just about anything that can improve quality of life.”

Feral shifted her posture, the old carpet not offering any comfort against the loose rock chips. “That seems too easy.” The latter of her statement was drawn out in a display of skepticism. “No one should be able to receive such... Blessings.” By now she was staring at the old man with her brows furrowed.

He paid no mind to her and simply exhaled. Feral took this as a cue to silence herself.

Exhaling just like him, the teen relaxed her rigid posture and allowed her shoulders to slope. There was a quick glance to her side to make sure she was mimicking Old Sir correctly. Once sure, she shut her eyes as well. Now it was the issue of what to pray for.

The thought process of choosing felt like a silent eternity. Her thoughts racing for the proper wording so as to not anger the god she did not yet understand.

_ Freedom of oppression. To be happy again. No. For once. _

Feral’s desires were pulled from her subconscious and brought forth. The pulling force formulated and interpreted the thoughts for the anxious child, much more quickly than she could. Feral found the feeling to be pleasant. A soft lulling that warmed her head and brought a painless fatigue. Comforted, she began to let her mental guard down. 

She allowed the unseen stranger in.

A chill exploded from within, replacing the warmth and returning with searing heat. Feral’s hands flew up to cup the sides of her head. Nearly clawing at her ears for relief. The place where her collar rested began to compress, mimicking burning hands closing around her lengthy neck. Her pulse began to quicken under the overwhelming sensations. Through all the pain she could feel her heart thudding against her rib cage. She could not open her eyes for they remained rolled back and unresponsive.

_ The nerve you have to be asking me for aid! You can change your face as much as you like, but your stench can never be masked. _

By now the teen was gasping for air, for her brain finally registered that she could no longer breath. Her back arched briefly before sending her form slumping backwards into an uncomfortable position.

Two sets of hands fumbled to catch Feral before she could crack the back of her head on the asphalt floor. Slowly, the pair lowered her body while her mind returned to the darkened state which it was so accustomed to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're liking the story so far I'd really appreciate some feedback!


End file.
